


Suspended; Directionless

by empathy_junkie



Series: Pedestrian Purgatory [1]
Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Coping Mechanisms, F/M, Groggy Hungover Thoughts, Mido Feels Bad Man, Morning After, Namikawa is an ass, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 15:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empathy_junkie/pseuds/empathy_junkie
Summary: part of yotsu8a's survivor au; Mido and Namikawa hook up and it's fine, really, everything is fine, there's nothing wrong and no regrets here ever





	Suspended; Directionless

She was roused by the sound of running water and the familiar burning of old liquor between her teeth. And with expert wisdom, she closed her eyes immediately after.

Pictured the body she had fallen asleep next to under scalding, running water until it made her squirm.

_"You're so gentle."_

_"What'd you expect? I'm drunk."_

_"No you're not."_

_"I'm not gonna bite you."_

_"You're so fucking gentle."_

"You're _drunk."_

_"Don't sound so sad."_

Ayame stifled a disapproving hum into Namikawa's thick, luxurious pillow-case. Yep, the next morning and she still didn't really feel like marking the damn thing up. If anything, it would have been preferable if his flesh had turned out to be porcelain, instead. She could easily imagine it crumbling under her fingers, coating them with a fine dust and her lips with bitter tasting red paint. That impossibly soft neck and those rounded hips and the intoxicating colors beneath the surface would be vast improved if forced into ageless stillness. They animated all wrong.

Yet the moment had long passed and Ayame was the only doll-like thing in Namikawa's house: resting limply, completely nude on his mattress until she was forced to pick herself up again. His voice would force her. His footsteps would tug on her strings. Until that time, she would stay just where he had put her. For posterity. Because she had allowed him to put her there. Because she had become just another carefully chosen addition to his routine.

'Carefully chosen' might be a stretch, considering how things had transpired.

Ayame had received a quick phone-call at the eleventh hour asking her if she wanted drinks at some place she had never heard of before. And the sender had just so happened to be the man she had been shamefully enamored with since before she had ever had the chance to really know who he was.

A miracle, really.

It had all happened so fast. Ayame hadn't needed two seconds to make her decision. And Namikawa - 

Damn, he'd been in a state. His placeholder smile had vanished after their second round, and by the time he had crossed the narrow distance between them, it had been long foreshadowed by the continuous strain in his hands that he was forcing himself to exercise patience. When he took her hand in his, his skin was hot. His voice low and piteous.

"You understand," he had insisted, drunk yet poised to an infuriating degree. "It's pathetic. The inability to move forward - the inability to seize upon what's there, while it's there, because of something that's gone forever."

"I'm guessing your chances with Shimura are gone forever," is what she had wanted to say. But she looked at him, molten, instead.

"Can we stop talking, then?"

"Let's stop talking somewhere else."

"Ok. Yours."

"Mine."

Easy. Namikawa was always easy. This time, though, it was extraordinary.

Perhaps it had amused her, or aroused her. What was the difference? For a moment, he had occupied the same world of despondency and weariness that she had come to know. For once, her lies to him could count toward more than merely fending off an inevitable crisis. She could cause him one, instead.

Really, it was a fairytale.

And like all fairytales, it felt a bit like a joke.

Ayame released a long breath through her nostrils. His sheets were annoyingly soft. The room fairly perfumed. This was absurd. That was all. She was absurd. She was callous and reckless and this was a bad idea. But that had all been true years before last night. So. _This_ wouldn't kill her.

Kira hadn't fucking been able to kill her. She was allowed to feel invincible. Untouchable. Unbreakable. She was allowed to fuck her childhood crush who was finally low enough to consider her an option. She could do whatever she fucking wanted; she could take the damage.

It wouldn’t kill her.

But it would kill _him_. 

If she let it. 

"Shingo," Namikawa interrupted her, appearing nude in the entrance to the bathroom. "You're awake."

Ayame stared at him through a building sensation of nausea in the pit of her stomach. It was all she could manage at the moment, with a nod. "Sharp."

 


End file.
